Hungover
by Hail-The-Process
Summary: Trouble's had a bad day at work, so he asks Artemis for some alcohol. The next morning, he wakes up hungover, and in a vulgar situation. T for implied intercourse, use of alcohol, and swears. Romance because of implied intercourse.


**Disclaimer: Eoin Colfer owns Artemis Fowl. Obviously, I am not Eoin Colfer. Just a lowly fan. Also, I understand that fairies aren't supposed to safely consume alcohol. Knowing Artemis, he probably made a passable substitute. /excusesexcusesexcuses/**

_**Hungover**_

Several months had passed since Artemis successfully defied all logical sense and came back from the dead.

He'd regained his memories just fine, but unfortunately, he also seemed to be suffering from intense depression.

"_He's died before,"_ Doctor Argon had said. "_Of course he's going to suffer from some sort of depression. I'd suggest keeping an eye on him at all time to make sure he doesn't to anything drastic."_ They'd been doing that since.

Butler and Juliet took watch at first, until Butler came down with a virus and had to be hospitalized. The rest of the Fowls and Juliet were with him most of the time. So Holly kept an eye on him.

But even ever-loyal and tolerant Holly Short needed a break after a few weeks. Which was why she turned to Trouble Kelp.

He breezed through four days of depressed-Artemis-watching without so much as flinching. But one day, he did a lot more than _flinch..._

* * *

Trouble Kelp sighed as he stared watched Artemis read, having collapsed – more like climbed – into one of the many armchairs that dotted the manor.

He'd had a downright awful day at work. Three convicts escaped his LEP officers and Trouble had been made the bearer of bad news. He had to take down not one, not two, but _three_ trolls, and he stubbed his toe of one of Grub's stupid action figures.

He swallowed his pride. "Fowl," Trouble said, getting Artemis' attention.

Artemis looked up from his book. "Yes, Commander Kelp?" he inquired, his face the epitome of emotionless.

Trouble felt extremely uncomfortable asking Artemis of this. "I've had a bad day," he said. "Mind if I crack into your alcohol stash?"

Artemis closed his book. "That is fine. Come," said Artemis, standing and leading Trouble to the wine cellar. The Commander happily followed.

* * *

Trouble awoke to a narrow beam of sunlight shining in his eyes.

He groaned softly, thinking he must have had far too much to drink, considering how hungover he felt, and cracked an eye open, noting that he was in a too-large room, in a too-large bed, with a too-large...

Mud Man?

Trouble sat up, staring at Artemis. The Mud Man's face was nuzzled near Trouble's hips, with one arm over the Commander's legs. A bud of terror bloomed in poor Trouble's stomach as he realized that both he and Artemis were stark naked.

He began looking for an escape. Whilst looking around the room – Artemis' bedroom – he noticed a small portrait of the wall signed 'Alexander Fowl'.

It depicted an old man who looked like a much older version of Artemis. He wore a self-satisfied smirk, and it seemed to have been painted so that 'Alexander Fowl' stared right at whomever looked at it.

The smirk seemed to say '_I know what you and good ol' Arty did',_ making Trouble shrink into the silky covers. But he stopped when he remembered Artemis' presence.

He had the general idea of what he and 'good ol' Arty' did, as well.

Trouble recalled how strong the alcohol (or at least what Artemis assured him was a safe substitute for fairies) was, and how Artemis himself had had some. Soon, the duo were hammered.

He remembered being carried upstairs by Artemis, who was tripping and stumbling over his own feet, bottle in hand.

After that it was mostly snippets of him being thoroughly dominated by Artemis. His thighs were still sore, and he didn't think he'd ever shit properly again.

While Trouble was simmering in disgust at his actions, Artemis shifted, finally moving his arm so Trouble could move his legs. The Mud Boy groaned and sat up. Trouble shrunk into the covers, eyes wide in horror.

Artemis blinked confusedly at his bare body, and Trouble tried to vibrate into invisibility. But he still had mass, and Artemis, ever observant, would undoubtedly notice.

Artemis turned his gaze to Trouble. The Commander simply shrugged. Slowly, the Mud Boy lifted the blankets, quickly putting them back in their place.

"Commander Kelp," he said, "I am going to fake my death and move to Thailand. Would you make sure everyone thoroughly believes I am truly dead?"

"Can't I be dead too?" asked Trouble helplessly. "I want to change my name, too. See a plastic surgeon. Pose as a Mud Baby or something."

"That can be arranged," said Artemis. "But first, clothing."

Trouble nodded. "Agreed." They stared at one another expectantly for a time.

"Don't look at me," snapped Trouble, turning over and hiding his face in the squishy pillows.


End file.
